


I'll Come Back (To Haunt You)

by DeltaRaeRunAway



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaRaeRunAway/pseuds/DeltaRaeRunAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And then the one, unbelievable thought would always surface without fail: was an Olympic gold medal worth all this?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

 

“Charlie, Charlie, _Charlie_ ,” she moaned, trying to reason, with him, and with herself.

 

He didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. There was only one thing to do when she got like this, and for Charlie, the object at the mercy of her whines, the routine had become second nature.

 

Somberly and almost ritual-esque, he pried her fingers from his shoulders where they were indented with such unexpected strength he saw that her knuckles had gone white. Avoiding her gaze (it was just less painful not to look her in the eyes when she was in this state and he was the only one who could knock her out of it) and gently placing her hands, which had begun to regain some color, on either side of his hips, he rolled over he so that his body, larger and encasing, hovered over her own.

 

She was not in a place to take charge. This was consensual, he knew, and wouldn’t dare make a move no matter how much she plead were it not. This was normal; he tried to tell himself (to little to no avail). He was a friend helping out another friend. This surely was in the friendship rulebook, right under the code of points next to consolation sex and rebound hook-ups. Right?

 

By now she was whimpering, desperate for the intimacy she’d come to expect. He relented, tossing his thoughts on the back burner, as he always did for her. He removed her shirt with no flourish or embellishment. Bare-chested, now, Meryl remained limp and motionless. Charlie swallowed and a flash of ‘how did I get myself into this’ fleeted through his mind. Again, he ignored this and returned to the task at hand: Meryl’s happiness.

 

Throughout the whole ordeal he never took his button-down off, a kind of symbol as to how non-committal a connotation this had. When her needs had been sufficiently met and her cries quieted, he rolled back over to lie beside her. His presence, she once divulged, she found soothing, and so he never regretted this aftermath per se, but it was a kind of penance for Charlie. While her mind, presumably, was reset and blank; he was left to his own musings that invariably brought him to a guilty conscience and muddled conception.

 

And then the one, unbelievable thought would always surface without fail: was an Olympic gold medal worth all this?

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie recalls how the whole ordeal started, with Meryl's emotions too overwhelming to handle and she shuts down.

* * *

 

 

It’s not that she was depressed—but when she researched sports psychology, she found that this was a common side effect to being a hardcore athlete. With all the training and her frankly _miserable_ schedule, she was bound to break down every once in a while. It only became a problem once she had tried **everything** (or so she thought) _…_ and yet **nothing** was able to alleviate her anxiety. Then it started to affect her skating, and her partnership—so Charlie was driven to take matters into his own hands.

 

She would cry about the most trivial of things, sometimes career related but often times not. It’s healthy to cry, she was told, just let it out; but this was not shedding the occasional tear or crying herself to sleep at night to awaken refreshed and purged. This was hysterical crying, with self-deprecating words that didn’t even make sense but still she let them out and they hung in the air like smoke. This was a refusal to get up and get on with her life because she was past her breaking point and physically could not function. This was such an intense rage and hollow despondency that she would become numb and then, really, what did the tears matter if she couldn’t feel them streaming down her gaunt face?

 

See, the therapist she’d hastily scheduled an appointment with her first year of college (when the earth crumbled beneath her) had given Meryl every possible solution under the sun—with the exception of one very nontraditional but oh-so-effective method of knocking her out of a spiraling sadness: sex.

 

Luckily for Meryl, after a night on the town with an exasperated Charlie and some stubbornness on her part, it was discovered that the one thing her doctor neglected to suggest was the one thing that was capable of curing her blues [don’t worry, it’s still sex].

 

A precursor to this (Charlie would never assume or be so immodest as to throw himself on her) worked itself out after instance number one.

 

He initially noticed what outsiders referred to as her ‘states’ after midterms week, when he ran into her uncharacteristically on Michigan’s campus and she was visibly _shaking_. “You aren’t driving,” he told her firmly, and helped her into his car, promising that her own would survive the night.

 

When they arrived at the rink [at 12:09, for a 1:00 practice] Charlie parked the car but did not take the key out of ignition. He turned to face her, but Meryl’s eyes were empty for the first time and gave no indication of what was plaguing her.

 

“OK.” He tried to be strong, for her, but this was freaking him out to no end. “What’s up?” Casual enough to pass off as friendly concern, he told himself; no implications there.

 

She would not open her mouth to answer him. He became frustrated, in turn. “Are you selectively mute now, is that it?”

 

He ran a hand angrily through his curly hair. Angry at the situation, he acknowledged; not her.

 

“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, Mer…look, tell me what’s going on, this isn’t like you!”

 

For sure and _if anything_ , that would do her in. She’d give him a puppy dog look and yeah, he’d be upset, but now he was craving any sign of emotion or at least a response, something more than her blank gaze. Another first, however: Meryl would not budge. He panicked now—could she hear him? Was she going comatose, and was he the cause? This was _not good_.

 

The more he tried to induce her perception of reality, the more she faded away from him. He opened the passenger seat door a crack, because maybe she needed fresh air? He brought his face close to hers, searching for a hint as to her state, and that’s when he got his wish, he supposed.

 

A lone tear ran down her cheek, curving sharply and dissipating on her neck, and Meryl completely lost it. Her breathing became ragged and heavy, like she was struggling to catch it. This potential loss clearly scared her, as she then sped up this process, unsuccessfully trying to regain her breath but successfully hyperventilating.

 

Why couldn’t Charlie think, and at a time like this? Oh, that’s right; _she_ was the rational one, _she_ was the one with a head on her shoulders and not in the clouds. So what the _hell_ was this?

 

What was it she did when he would have an asthma attack—give him his inhaler, calm him down… _calm him down_!

 

“Meryl. Listen to me. I don’t know if you even understand what I’m saying but—“ (his voice cracked) “—try to. Please. I need you to slow down. Relax. Let go. Then tell me what I can do so I don’t have to watch you literally slip from my grasp.”

 

He pressed the back of his hand to her heart, beating at such a rapid pace he felt it might burst out of its cavity and then how could she love him? Selfish, Charlie, focus on the task at hand.

 

_Hand_. His hand was still there, resting against her chest. His hand, whose steady pulse (though certainly higher than normal) apparently evened out the swift match of hers. His hand, that when he experimentally moved to cup her face, brought color back to Meryl; color that he hadn’t ever seen before.

 

Silence still enveloped the car and he’d _never wanted to hear her shrill and, at times, painful lilt more_ , but now he was getting somewhere. He now comprehended the remedy (which would grow exponentially over time to the highest extreme) but ached for the cause. She had never done anything like this before, and he wasn’t entirely sure if she was controlling it or not, but most likely, he decided, she wasn’t.

 

From that day on, every panic attack, every uncontrollable bout of sobs, every stress-ridden moment of desperation Meryl faced, Charlie would snap her out of it. Little did he know at the first encounter that this would be a regular thing, though many years later, the states would be fewer and farther between.

 

He could recognize the signs if you dimmed every one of his senses, because he could _read her_ , because _that’s what seventeen years do_. She would approach him, totally weak—so vividly the stark contrast to the strong and spirited Meryl he’d come to know—and entreat Charlie with her emboldened eyes, and how could he have the heart to tell her that this was messing him up inside?

 

When she was good, she was good. She didn’t know of her states, and nobody wanted to be the one to notify her. It could be a result of the skating, but then again, it could be a random hereditary thing.

 

With each attack the symptoms were heightened but the episodes rarer. Charlie was disturbed to discern that he had become quite fond of this unspoken relationship. In distress over this he tried to make actual sense of it all, removing himself from the equation. What factors in Meryl’s life were worth this unprofessional keeping of an important medical happening?

 

Innocent Charlie, just trying to help, couldn’t connect the pieces of the puzzle fit for a preschooler.

 

It’s not like her being under pressure every second of every day is that fierce a component, he settled.

 

Charlie was in denial.

 

Meryl was none the wiser.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate all of the responses I've gotten on this story! At first, this was just going to be a one-shot, but a certain comment inspired me to dig deeper. Still not sure exactly what this is but I sat down and it came out, so I hope this clears some ambiguity up...?

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I don't even know. This is just a crazy idea I had in my head and ran with it, mostly to be free of it. I recognize that this is a lot like the gist of RoeB's story "It's Complicated", with Meryl and Charlie having an 'arrangement' of sorts, but this one has virtually nothing to do with figure skating--just the very last line (though goodness knows I LOVE how that's incorporated into "It's Complicated"!!). 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if this made any sense to you. Or not. Either way :)


End file.
